


We Are Apogee

by Helholden



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Human Experimentation, Loss, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-12
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 08:52:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1773157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Monty try to deal with the fact that they may be the only ones left alive of the 100. Post 1x13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are Apogee

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** I blame the finale. Also, slight Bellamy/Clarke feels.

* * *

 

The floor was cold against her feet, a biting chill that jolted Clarke’s nerves every time she touched it. They hadn’t given her any socks. New clothes, but no socks. Some saviors they were. But they weren’t saviors. They had locked her up like she was lab rat and they were going to study her.

 

 _Mount Weather Quarantine Ward_ , the sign in the hallway read.

 

Clarke didn’t have much of a choice when it came to the floor, though. She wasn’t going to stay on the bed all day. She wasn’t some princess in distress.

 

She was going to _do_ something about this.

 

Only when it came down to it, there wasn’t much she could do. Clarke tried making a scene at first, throwing things at the door, banging on it with her fists. They came once and injected her with something to put her to sleep, but not before she fought back and bit one of them in the arm. When she woke up, she was strapped to the bed.

 

One day maybe a week later, they took the straps off. They let her walk around her cell. It was a room, but Clarke wasn’t kidding herself. It was first and foremost a cell.

 

Across the hall, she could still see Monty.

 

They talked to each other sometimes, reading lips. It was the only way they could do it, really. Screaming their heads off through the doors was nonsensical, and they didn’t have anything to write with or write on, so they spoke to each other slowly and read lips. It helped the time to pass as well, especially when Monty told her jokes with really bad puns.

 

Clarke laughed, but it was an empty laugh.

 

Another week passed where they brought her food, but there was no human interaction. The guards or the scientists or whatever they were, they wouldn’t talk back to her when she tried to talk to them. Clarke tried to fish idly for information, for what happened to the rest of her friends, her people, but they were either smart or just apathetic. They never spoke back to her. Not once.

 

One day, Clarke broke down crying. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stop it. She just had to sob until her entire body ached, until her heart pounded so hard it hurt, until her lungs burned along with her eyes, which were dry from too many tears.

 

She curled up in a ball at the corner of the room, and she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

 

Clarke fell asleep on the floor that night. She woke up back in her bed, with no memory of how she got there.

 

Another week after that, Clarke found herself greeted with a pair of guards. They were quiet, as always. They escorted her out of the cell, each one holding one of her arms. They didn’t tie her, but they were big men. They probably didn’t fear the likes of her.

 

They brought her to a large room like a mess hall, and let go of her. Clarke turned around to demand what was going on, but they had already retreated and were closing and locking the doors behind her. Clarke ran to the shut doors, banging her fists on them.

 

“What are you _doing_ to us!” she hollered. “Let me _out_ of here!”

 

“ . . . Clarke?”

 

She paused, and then slowly turned around.

 

Clarke’s mouth fell open.

 

“Monty?” she asked, her voice sounding far away, even to herself.

 

He was sitting at one of the many empty tables in the room. Long white tables to match the long white walls. There were steel and plastic chairs. Those were white, too. He had been eating out of a tray, but his hands were down on the table now, and he was pushing himself up to stand.

 

“Monty,” Clarke repeated below her breath.

 

And then she ran to him.

 

He met her a quarter of the way. Clarke threw her arms around his neck, and he hugged her back. They pulled back at the same time, shock in their eyes to see the other in the same room.

 

“They let you out,” Clarke said. “But why?”

 

“Why’d they let _you_ out?” Monty asked her right back, his eyes flitting across the room with suspicion.

 

Clarke felt the gears in her brain working. “Why are we in the same room?” she asked aloud.

 

“They’re probably listening right now.”

 

Her jaw tightened. “You’re probably right.”

 

Monty pulled back from her. “We should sit down,” he said in a low voice. “And not talk too loud. They don’t have mics on us. They can’t hear everything we say.”

 

“You don’t know that, Monty,” Clarke warned him, but it was a better idea than standing and looking suspicious themselves, so she sat down after him, taking a seat right beside him instead of across from him. If they sat across from each other, they’d have to lean over the table to whisper. It would be too obvious.

 

“So, how’ve you been?” Monty asked her, scooting his tray of food towards her.

 

It was better food than Clarke had remembered seeing before in her cell, so she immediately dug in with her hands and ate like she was starved. There were eggs and steak and mashed potatoes with gravy poured over them, broccoli and carrots, and some kind of dessert that looked like pie topped with whip cream.

 

“Hungry, apparently,” Monty mused.

 

Clarke slowed down, but kept chewing, and shot him a dirty look. “Shut up,” she said through a mouthful, and he laughed at her.

 

Despite her hunger, though, Clarke remembered their friends, and she put the food down. She swallowed quickly. “Have they talked to you?” she asked. “Have they told you anything about Jasper and the others?”

 

The cheerful look on Monty’s face fell away, and he lowered his eyes. “No,” he admitted. “They haven’t said a word to me. They’re like zombies. In and out. Mechanical assholes.”

 

Clarke felt her heart sinking in her chest. “They haven’t said a word to me either,” she added softly, turning away. The weight in her chest felt heavier, and instead of wondering why their captors let them sit in the same room together, Clarke forgot entirely about their surroundings.

 

She remembered the explosion. She remembered the aftermath. She remembered the charred bodies lying on the ground, a pile of bone and ashes.

 

Her eyes watered.

 

“They’re dead,” Clarke whispered. “They’re all dead . . . ” _Bellamy and Finn_ , she thought, wiping a fallen tear from her cheek. She wanted to find them. She wanted to bury their remains and give them a funeral. She wanted to say a prayer, and she wanted to let go.

 

But there was no letting go, not when she wanted to cling onto them for dear life.

 

Finn was her friend, and Bellamy . . . _Bellamy_ . . .

 

“Hey,” Monty said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Clarke. We don’t know that they’re dead. We don’t anything yet. I’m sure they’re all here, too. It can’t be just us.”

 

“Did you see any other rooms with observatory windows on your way out?” she asked, recalling that she had seen none as they escorted her from her room.

 

Monty’s hand froze on her shoulder. “No,” he admitted in a quiet voice. “I didn’t see any others.”

 

Clarke sniffed, holding up her head. She glanced over at him. “Then it’s just us, Monty.”

 

The pain in her heart, Clarke saw it in his eyes.

 

“Jasper . . . ” Monty said, and then he looked down at his lap, and he was silent. His hand fell from her shoulder, and his fists clenched in his lap.

 

“It’s just us . . . ” Clarke repeated, and she thought it might make her feel better, but now she understood why they were together. The mountain men were observing them. They were observing their reactions and the emotional and mental effects of what they had just been through. It was a science experiment, and they were the lab rats.

 

Clarke reached out her hand and grasped Monty’s, staring defiantly across the room at any cameras that might be watching.

 

“It’s just us,” Clarke said more firmly, and they were going to get out of this.

 

They were going to do something about it, whether the mountain men liked it or not.

 

 


End file.
